Arthur's Buns
by TheDailyKnight
Summary: Merthur, AU, Canon-era. A short tale about Merlin chasing after King Arthur's famous buns. I hope you enjoy reading it as much I did writing it. As usual, copyright belongs to the relevant parties and I am only playing with the characters.


**Arthur's Buns**

"Merlin!" yelled Arthur, "Get in here! Come quick! I have need of your magic, your power so slick!"

Merlin came at a run and joined Art by the fire, trying to work out the cause of his ire.

"You bellowed, My Lord?" he said with a grin. "When I served you dinner, did I forget anything?"

"My buns have gone missing!" said Arthur as Merlin, tried not guffaw at this latest of turnings.

"They seem present to me," he said checking out, the seat of the chair in which Arthur sprawled out.

"Merlin, I know well your wicked ways. I was _talking_ about the buns on my tray."

"Oh, _those_ buns!" cried Merlin with a wave of his hand. "I'm sure that I left them. They looked great and smelled grand."

"Yes, _those_ buns," sulked Arthur, "they smelled very nice. I was ready to eat them all up in a trice."

"When did you last see them?" asked Merlin as Art, thought closely of dinner, served à la carte.

"A while ago, I forget the key time, when I turned around to pour myself some more wine.

When I turned back and I looked at my tray, they were gone! Just like that! They'd abandoned buffet!"

"Well, Sire, what a shock! What a terrible trifle! What a pickle you're in, what a knot in your... pretzel..."

"Are you gorging on jokes? This is not at all funny!"

"Just count yourself lucky it wasn't the honey."

"That indeed would have had a sting in its tail."

"But it would be easily cured by adding more ale."

"Are you saying I'm easy to ply with the mead? A little wine and more ale will cure this heart bleed?"

"Do you not think, my dearest young King, that you're making a meal of this merest of things?"

"No, I do not, and I advise you to think, to whom you are talking before you next wink."

Merlin coughed and turned his head to the floor and gasped as he saw the crumbs leading out of the door.

"A clue!" he cried out with overdone vigour, and danced a short dance which was known as a jigger.

"You, my prize Clotpole, will follow this trail. Find who it leads to and throw them in jail!"

And so our dear Merlin left the scene of the crime and, praying that he would find them in time, down the stairs he started to climb.

About halfway down he bumped into Gwen, who was preening herself like a wet mother hen.

"Merlin, you're flustered, you're nearing a run! Tell me, what's happening?"

"Have you seen Arthur's buns?"

Gwen smiled as she said, "Yes! They're the talk of the town! They're _so_ light and perky and sweet golden brown."

"They've been stolen!" said Merlin. "Art's ready to disassemble, the person who did it, his temper's monumental."

"I know not where they've gone or where they're to be found, but speak now to Gwaine; he's doing his rounds."

Merlin set off at a very fast sprint, gasping under his breath words I dare not to print.

He burst out into the courtyard fair, dodged between crowds and searched for the hair.

When it flashed a-bright in the sun, he knew he was near, and slowed to a run.

Tapped on the shoulder, Gwaine span on his heels, his hair whipped around and flopped down ideal.

"Why, Merlin, my friend! You have caught a smell of my rums, which-"

"-I've no time for drinking, Gwaine! Have you seen Arthur's buns?"

"Those round and fair and well-prone to rising, on a hot summer's day when we knights go out riding?"

"Yes those are the- No! Gwaine, clean out your mind! I am talking about goods of the bakery kind!"

"I know his buns well, he's got them out often... At picnics and battles, both hardened and softened."

"Have you seen them around, maybe sold at this fair? Arthur is livid, he's pulling his hair!"

"That's no way to treat it! It's got such a nice gloss... The next time I see him I'll teach him to toss."

"I hope you mean hair and not... down below..."

"Of course! The other I hear he does like a pro."

"I know, I know, look: I have to go. But please let me know if his buns come on show."

Merlin dashed off, following the crumbs, wondering just what of lost buns becomes.

As he left town, a roar overhead, caused his stomach to knot in fear and in dread.

He looked to the sky and his brain began whirling as Kilgarrah descended from where he'd been circling.

"Young Warlock, I'm troubled, you'll soon come undone-"

"-Never mind about that! Have you seen Arthur's buns?"

"Arthur's buns are renowned both far and wide, for their spice and their flavour and the cream that's inside."

"Then tell me, please tell me, for my brain's all of an itch-"

"-Isn't it obvious? They are with the witch."

"The witch?" puzzled Merlin. "But which is the witch, who stole my King's buns? You can't mean the B-"

"-That's who I mean," said Kilgarrah, more grave, than Merlin had seen him in many an age.

"Morgana with buns? Well, who would have thought? No wonder they vanished and haven't been caught!"

"I advise you tread lightly, she must not see you coming, else she'll stuff herself full in a way unbecoming."

"But why did she steal them and cause him to riot?"

"I fear, my young warlock, that she's been on a diet."

"Oh dear! Not again! You know how she gets! Without cream cakes and fancies you know how she makes threats."

"Arthur's buns are the best in these lands. When she wants to get at them, no-one in her path stands."

"Except now there's me. Oh joy! Oh rapture! I must stand in her way or else Art's cook she'll capture."

"Then I urge you caution, let your temper not snap."

"You fear that I'm walking straight into a trap?"

"That's what I fear and you have to be wary."

"Else she'll stuff her face with a bun most éclairy?"

"Precisely, Dragon Lord, and can you imagine, Arthur's response to that?"

"I'd expect no compassion."

"It would be the dungeons for you."

"And nought down there but thin rat stew."

"But worse than that is Morgana's reaction. With Emrys disabled, her plan would be actioned."

"Her plan? What plan? She based one on Art's buns?"

"Of course; she's no fool. She knows you're the one."

"She knows that I'm that Emrys? But who gave her that thread?"

"I'm sorry to say, it was our own dear Mordred."

"So she knows that I'm Emrys... I wonder... I wonder... In her great wisdom, does she know I'm the Dolma?"

"On that she's not pondered, as far as I know."

"Mordred's said nothing? Then it's time for a show.

I shall don my best dress and go straight to her keep, there to spin a tale o'er which she will weep."

"But what will you tell her from the disguise you're within?"

"That I badly need food. The Dolma's quite thin."

"She'll give you it not and will laugh in your face."

"Well despite what you say, I think my plan is ace."

"And how will you reach her? The trail ends over there."

Merlin smiled as he said, "I'll fly Dragon Air."

And so Merlin hopped onto The Great Dragon's back, held on real tight and gave him a thwack.

"Onwards, Kilgarrah, to Camelot Castle, where I will get changed into my dress with its bustle!"

"You sound like you've given much thought to your dress," said Kilgarrah as they rose and began to head west.

"Yes, well, she's the best of my many creations. As time has worn on she's been through alterations."

"But a bustle on the rear of such an old soul? Are you sure that was wise? Will it not take a toll?"

"The bustle is reinforced with sturdy oak wood. It delivers a blow which none have withstood."

"Well, you know best, I'm sure, my young warlock. Camelot's below, I'll land next to the stocks."

Kilgarrah touched down just outside Merlin's room. The sorcerer dismounted and took off at a zoom.

Moments later he was right back outside, the dress flapping around him with each purposeful stride."

"You look remarkably spry for a lady of eighty."

"Well, what can I say? This woman is zany.

Now help me up, dearie! I ache to the bone. But regardless of that I must save Arthur's throne."

The Great Dragon extended a talon to her and she took it gracefully like a grand foremother.

Then up onto his scaly back did she clamber, and set herself down like a wise old enchanter.

"I am ready, my friend," she said in a voice that was camp and stately and caused him to rejoice.

"Dolma, my Dolma, now where do we go?"

"Seek out Morgana in her latest chateaux."

So once more The Great Dragon took to the air and The Dolma held on as around her she stared.

Away in the distance, smoke rose in a plume, a beacon towards which The Great Dragon zoomed.

"I fear that she may have already begun, to stoke up the fire on which she'll grill Arthur's buns."

"They don't need a grilling: trust me, I know. They taste great on their own, or perhaps with a bordeaux."

"Arthur's taste is so wide?"

"He says they're the height of fine dining."

"He likes foreign drinks?"

"No, he's an expert at wining."

"I can't fly much further or else she will see us."

"Then land in that clearing. I don't want a fuss."

The Dolma dismounted and gave a shy wave. As Kilgarrah flew off, her face became grave.

She rolled up her sleeves and turned on her heel, then slowly walked off in search of her meal.

She followed her nose for the spice on the air, told her she was close to a treat very rare.

Then the trees parted and a stronghold appeared, clearly another that Morgana'd commandeered.

Smoke rose from the top of the highest tower. The Dolma stared at it and started to glower.

How was an old lady meant to scale to that height? The very attempt would take her all night.

Then behind her, growing louder as closer they came, hoof-beats rang in her ears and set her brain all aflame.

Around a bend in the track there came a great horse, with rider and entourage which looked very coarse.

The Dolma bowed as she realised the rider, was Cenred, the King, known to Art as The Viper.

"Who are you, you pathetic old crone, to dare block my path when you stand there alone?"

"Oh, Sire, atop your magnificent steed! You'd not turn me aside in my hour of need?"

Cenred looked down at the pitiful old crone, who'd hunched up as if she were to be struck with a stone.

"I know not who you are, cowering there wretched and wizened. Tell me right now, or I'll spill your gizzards."

The Dolma stared hard up the length of his sword and yawned to herself as if she was bored.

"Great King, I ask that you put your weapon away. It's not very impressive, as your wife may well say."

"My wife knows nothing of how my scabbard's endowed."

"And you yell that about as if you are proud?"

"Old lady, you are blocking the way to my fun."

"I take it by that you mean Arthur's buns?"

"Yes, the buns of my enemy, stolen from him, from right under his nose, though the chances were slim."

"Finer buns, I have heard, cannot be found in your land."

"We shall see what the fuss is when I hold one in each hand."

The Dolma looked shocked, surprised and offended. "Great King, if he found you, on your knees you'd be bended."

"Like his servant, that weak-willed and feckless young Merlin? Tell me he's not rear-ending the king that he's serving."

The Dolma placed her hands firmly onto her hips, narrowed her eyes and pursed up her lips.

"Without that boy he would be at a loss!"

"Whatever, whatever, he still sleeps with the dross."

"But I heard the boy knows the major arcana."

"I grow bored of this nonsense. You'll be my gift to Morgana."

Before the Dolma knew it she was forced into a saddle, an uncomfortable old thing that she was forced to straddle.

With a flick of his hand and a nod of his head, Cenred rode them towards the tower of dread.

They entered it quickly and he felt the despair of the black granite walls as they rode up the stairs.

Once at the top and outside a vast door, they dismounted the horses without any rapport.

"You will go first, as my gift to the Queen."

"Because you are scared when the bitch is serene."

"She's calm like the sky before a great storm."

"She'll gut you in an instant if you don't perform."

"It's worth paying the price for a slice of the fun."

"So you go to such lengths to taste Arthur's buns?"

The doors were thrown open by a force great and unseen, and there, dark before them, sat Morgana The Queen.

"You're late, my King Cenred!" she snapped through the air. "I trust you have reason. If you have I'll be fair."

"Your Majesty, what an honour it is to behold, such fairness, such beauty-"

"-Such robes of fake gold."

Morgana's glare darted to the ancient old crone, who stood tall and proud now, and quite, quite alone.

Cenred had backed off a considerable distance as the old woman had uttered her passive resistance.

"And who are you to judge that, you miserable old hag? You'd not know what gold is if it came by doggy bag."

"Doggy bags, is it?" The Dolma replied. "On a diet, Mi'lady? You need it. You're wide."

"How did you know of a matter so personal? Answer me now or face my wrath most infernal!"

"I smelled the king's buns from many miles away. With a strong will like yours, I knew they'd cause you to sway."

"To sway? To sway? Of what do you babble? I can stick to my diet and I warn you not to dabble."

"You'll stick to your diet while you have the king's buns? Dear lady, poor lady, it has already begun."

"What has begun? What, oh what do you mean?"

"Mi'lady, you're drooling, your chin's got a sheen."

"I will not be told how to conduct my own diet!"

"So you'll fail, my dear lady, although fail on the quiet."

"What do you mean, I'll fail on the quiet?"

"You can't have it both ways, both diet and riot.

Can you not see? Arthur's stitched you right up! Whatever you do he's assured you'll mess up."

"He's not all that clever is my dearest loved one."

"He's smarter than you think to bait his trap with his bun."

"Then how will I lose? Tell me! Speak fast! Unless you want a bolt to your heart."

"His victory will be assured in one of two ways: Either you'll break your diet or he'll end your days.

Arthur, you see, protects his buns wildly. He will not take news of their capture so lightly.

He'll get them back no matter the cost; he'll march on this land, your tower to accost.

Only when he's got them back in his possession will he even think to offer you a concession.

I'm not sure that he will, but if you treat me right, I could possibly persuade him to temper his might.

But if you eat them instead, I know he won't riot, for he will be aware of the cost to your diet.

They're full of rich fats and plump sugar chips which he knows of old will go straight to your hips.

He'll quietly take a great pride in knowing, how he thwarted your diet; left your waist ever growing."

"You poisonous old hag! You wretched old witch! You've ruined the buns that I worked hard to snitch!

"They smell like a cesspit to my nostrils now. You awful old creature! You rotten old sow!

"Take them! Yes! Take them! Get them out of my sight! I shall not face down Arthur and all of his might for a pair of old buns or the sake of my diet!"

"My lady, your wisdom finally shines through. I shall steal them as far away as-"

"Peru!"

"The town over the border? That's not far enough! Why it's only a hop, skip and jump over the bluff!"

"Then where will you take them? What is your plot?"

"To be totally safe, it must be Camelot."

"Back to my brother, lest I be overthrown," said Morgana in a voice between a whine and a grown.

"Break your diet or domain, Morgana, my dear."

"Very well, bitch, now go! Get them out of here!"

The Dolma turned smugly and took the two treats from the plate which they rested on, enclosed by sweetmeats.

She turned and left as fast as she could. Morgana's curse richocheted in an explosion of wood.

She staggered down to the bottom of the spire and sat in a puddle to put out the fire.

Carefully she inspected the remains of the bustle and thanked the lord it had protected her best muscles.

The lightning streaked all across the sky from the top of the tower where Morgana let fly.

And the Dolma, skirt hitched up, ran as fast as she could to avoid being zapped from the Earth where she stood.

Only once she had passed out of range did she pause for a breath and a quick re-arrange.

Her shape melted and flowed and when it had settled, Merlin stood to attention, his calmness quite nettled.

How dare Cenred imply that he was the king's bitch? And Morgana that he was weak! His eyes started to itch.

How dare she set fire to his fine, pert young bottom, which Arthur considered to be in full bloom and blossom!

He bit down on his fist as he fought away the smart, made for the road and flagged down a cart.

He sprawled himself out in the mountain of hay which had been piled in huge clumps aboard the old dray.

The rocking and swaying soon soothed him to sleep. It was almost as good as if he'd counted sheep.

Sometime around the first rising of the sun, he awoke to a cock-crow and pulled out Arthur's buns.

They were plump and tender and glowed in the dawn, perky and spicy and rounded and warm.

He smiled to himself as he put them away. Camelot drew near; he'd be there by midday.

When finally he entered the King's antechamber, it was to a cry of delight and incredible favour.

"Merlin! My Merlin! You've located my buns! You've got one in each hand! Oh this will be so much fun!"

"I travelled the Kingdom; searched far and wide; across rivers and valleys and forests did I ride."

"Then you must be rewarded!" exclaimed Arthur as he, took control of the buns with great reverie.

"What can I do for you, where do I stand?"

"Do you know that your buns are the talk of the land?"

Arthur glanced at him shyly and Merlin drew near, stroked his cheek softly, whispered into his ear.

"Are you sure you want that?" said Arthur as he, drew in a deep breath and tried not to squee.

"More than anything else. Please, give me my dream. I want to fill you buns with my special cream."

"Of course!" replied Arthur, his face lit up jolly and merry. "Are you sure it's just cream and not also a cherry?"

"No. Now come, let's make haste, to your chamber we'll go, and enjoy them together in the warm fire's glow."

And so Merlin and Arthur ascended the stairs, went into the bedroom and pulled up some chairs.

Merlin snapped his fingers and there appeared in the air, two pots and not one knife but a gleaming new pair.

Arthur split the buns carefully and then, like a team, they both helped themselves to the pots of thick cream.

They spread the buns thickly and with a knowing wink, devoured the buns before either could blink.

"Arthur, your sister's missed out on a treat," said Merlin as they basked in the fire's deep heat.

"My sister... my sister, I can't believe that the hussy was desperate enough to go stealing my buffet."

"It was a strange attack and over quite soon," said Merlin as into Art's hips he did spoon.

"Well it's over now, and for that I am glad. I am happy to have you back and being so bad."

"Being so bad? What on Earth do you mean?"

"You're pressing your buns to me. I can feel you're quite keen."

"Please don't go there, don't go there dear Sire. Talk of your buns will soon put out my fire."

"You're bored with the pun of the King's golden buns?"

"I've heard it, I've heard it until it is done."

"Then you won't want the real deal. What a shame, what a pity. I had hoped you would tease me with your body most pretty."

"Come here then, my King, and we'll see what you've got. But I warn you of something: I'll make your buns hot."

11


End file.
